No Room For Tears
by Hardra61
Summary: Post-Requiem/Babyfic. Mulder's back but Scully's gone. Oh yeah, and there's a kid.


  
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No Room for Tears  
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By hardra6 (hardra6@yahoo.com)  
MA, babyfic (?) Character Death  
C: I owned Mulder + Scully from 1984 to 1986. Chris Carter bought them from me at a yard sale for 50   
cents. I put them in the box by mistake.   
Notes: Another adventure into M as a daddy world. Have a peek It's kinda short.  
Summary: ....I have a daughter. We have a daughter. We had a daughter. I have a daughter.....  
  
  
  
  
No Room for Tears  
  
  
  
When I woke up, everything was white. White, white, white, white, white. Everywhere, everything,   
everyone. Even the goddamn food tasted white.   
  
I was in a hospital. No shit. I hate hospitals. I hate them a *lot*.   
  
First of all, my ass was so sore from lying down and sitting up, not to mention the occasional rear end   
injection, I felt like going around kicking everyone else's asses to make 'em see how they liked it. But the   
truth was, I was just too weak.   
  
I was sore and tired from so many things that I couldn't remember. I was sore from *remembering* things.   
Every time, I would tell myself, okay, let's just think back to the last thing you remember.....it usually isn't   
too hard for me, kind of like flipping through a file folder of photographs; but I was drawing a long blank.   
  
I remember......  
  
I remember something about Oregon, and Skinner.......  
  
The last solid thing I remember is a sad, tired smile. Scully's.   
  
I'm leaving for Oregon. She can't come. She'd be in danger. She has to stay. Besides, she's been feeling   
sick. It's best if I do this alone. Or with Skinner, whatever help he might be.   
  
That's all. Something about little red laser points. Something about a spaceship.   
  
That's all.  
  
I woke up again, I don't know how long it's been or anything. I was so tired I wanted to go straight back to   
sleep; but they didn't put the tv on, and they didn't give me that miracle drug that makes you go to sleep   
quick. So I was awake.   
  
The door of the room opened; for a second the steady beeping of the heart monitor in my room was backed   
by the usual hospital bustle. The door shut again, and I slowly opened my eyes.   
  
It's Skinner.   
  
What the hell is he doing here? Where's Scully?  
  
Or am I still in Oregon? Maybe she can't be here, it's not safe or anything.   
  
"Mulder," he said.   
  
I watched him carefully. He looked a little different; I couldn't put a finger on what exactly. Maybe it was   
his expression. I remember, he didn't seem as grim as he usually was. That must have been it. Why?  
  
"Sir," I said back. I didn't need him right now. "Where's Scully? Where am I?"  
  
As I said her name, something twitched in his face. Immediately he looked down, and skipped right to the   
second question. Something is wrong. "You're home, Mulder," was all he said.   
  
"Where've I been?"  
  
He sighed, a distant look came into his eyes. "We don't know. You don't remember?"  
  
"No, I don't." I was feeling more and more impatient. "Where's, Scully." I said it evenly.   
  
I felt my stomach turn as his expression changed. First something from inside, something that managed to   
get out of his hard, 'Nam Vet shell. It was a mixture of sorrow, mourning. Mourning. That scared me.   
  
Next, I saw regret. Blame. Something I was usually feeling. What had happened? We went to Oregon. He   
was playing babysitter as Scully did not get to do. I......I guess I was taken. He had to return home without   
me.   
  
What had happened?  
  
Where the hell was she?!  
  
I was about to demand again; to hell with these emotions. But I saw another one. Pain. Sorrow.  
  
Pity.  
  
For me.   
  
For me.   
  
"Where is Scully?" Pity.   
  
No. I do not like that combination. Pity me for wondering where my partner, my best friend, my soul mate   
is. What is happening to me?  
  
It speaks. "She, uh........" I realized I was holding my breath. I kept holding it. Who needs air? Who needs   
air, when something is wrong and it's about Scully and I don't know and Pity?  
  
"Mulder, I.....She's.........She's gone........"  
  
Gone.   
  
Gone.   
  
Scully. Gone. Pity.   
  
"Gone?" I echoed. Clarify, please.  
  
Clarification came hard to my superior; he looked near tears. That scared the crap out of me.   
  
"Sir, gone where?" I asked. My voice was meek; I hoped to God, if there was a God, that in 'gone' he meant   
'not here'.   
  
There were two wordly meanings of "gone".  
  
Please do not let her be dead.   
  
Please.   
  
"She's..........I'm sorry, Fox."  
  
She is. Oh my God. No. Please.   
  
How. How could she die? Not the cancer. Please, not the cancer. Anything, anything but the cancer. When   
I left....she was sick......dizzy spells....we tried not to think about it but we couldn't help it......  
  
"She died?" I said. My voice had long since cracked. I sounded like a second grader with a frog in his   
throat. "How can this..........."  
  
No. Scully, you couldn't have left me. I was only gone a little while. I promised I would come back. I really   
promised.   
  
"Mulder, there's more," he said in wavery tones. I looked up at him, like a lost dog. More? How can there   
be more? She's gone. It was my fault. Somehow, some way, it must have been my fault.   
  
I buried my face into my hands. "Scully."  
  
I can't believe him. He's lied to me before.   
  
"There's more. You have to hear this out." He sounded more like his usual self. Good. The more normal it   
was, the more I could relax. This wasn't real. This was some twisted nightmare.   
  
"How?" I asked. Fuck more. You just said my lover is dead, you bastard. I want to know *how*.  
  
I looked up at Skinner again. He was fighting to maintain tears. I would have laughed had the situation   
been different. Skin-man shedding tears. What an idea. But he was working to be strong. "How," I   
demanded again.   
  
"Mulder, I wish with everything that it was her and not me that was telling you this. I wish that things have   
been different. But they're not." Get on with it you bastard.   
  
"......Dana was devastated after you were taken." Why did he call her Dana.  
  
"......But she found out that she was pregnant the morning after you disappeared."  
  
I simply blinked.  
  
I was not dreaming.   
  
I could not be dreaming.   
  
Which meant Scully was dead.   
  
My Scully was dead.   
  
A hand on my shoulder. Whisper in my ear.   
  
"You're a father, Fox. You have a daughter."  
  
A daughter.   
  
My daughter.   
  
"I have a daughter." I didn't say that, of course. But I thought it. I thought about saying it. I thought about   
saying that in everyday conversation. "I have a daughter." Ha ha ha. Fox Mulder is a daddy. Ha ha ha, hee   
hee hee.  
  
And Scully is dead.   
  
I don't think I said it, but maybe I did after all. Walter had sat down next to my hospital bed; his hand was   
on my shoulder still. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "There was nothing we could do."  
  
I tried blinking, but my eyes stayed shut, and I leaned my head back. "Scully," I murmured. Sat up and   
glared into his eyes. "No!"  
  
"Mulder, I'm sorry."  
  
It hit me then. It hit me full force. I started to cry.   
  
I started crying, and I didn't stop. I cried, I cried, I kept crying. Scully. You're gone. No. Don't leave. I left   
you so you could be safe. I left you here, where it was safe, and Scully don't be dead. No, please, Scully,   
don't be dead.  
  
I have a daughter.   
  
We have a daughter.   
  
We had a daughter.   
  
I have a daughter.  
  
Somehow I stopped crying. He was still there. "What's her name?" I hardly managed to raise my tone to   
make that last word into a question. I didn't look into his eyes. If I did, he would see the remnants of a   
broken man.   
  
"Samantha,   
  
Melissa,  
  
Margaret,  
  
Mulder."  
  
I closed my eyes.   
  
I have a daughter.   
  
But I do not have Scully any more.  
  
  
***  
  
  
I call her Sammy. She's just three years old.   
  
She's been living with her grandmother most of her young life. I have also learned that she's also been cared   
for by Skinner and the boys, on occasion anyway. Not to mention Bill Jr., Tara, and Charles Scully. Walter   
is a lot more comfortable around her than I am. And the other way around.   
  
But she adapts quickly. She loves everyone.   
  
I first saw her when Skinner drove me to Mrs. Scully's. I call her Maggie now. I can't bring myself to call   
her 'mom', and yet I feel too close to call her 'Mrs.'. Maybe I'm also afraid of her name. Just hearing, saying   
'Scully' hurts me. I have a feeling that it always will.   
  
Maggie hugged me as soon as she saw me, and it felt like she would never let go. I'm sure I brought back   
some serious memories, the same way she did to me. Over her shoulder, I saw the little girl sitting on the   
carpet in the living room, looking at a book.   
  
Her hair is dark red, but she looks kinda like me. My sister, more definitively. The red is mostly dark   
brown; but when the light hits it just right it glows kind of reddish. It hit her hair just so the first few   
instants I saw her; and I absently let the tear roll down my cheek as it came. Skinner left, saying he would   
pick me up later that evening.   
  
"Come on," Maggie said, pulling me in. As we came close, she little girl stood up on wobbly, skinny legs   
and looked up at me with big, bright, curious eyes and chubby cheeks. We knelt down, and I don't think   
either of us needed an introduction. I took her into my arms gingerly, and she let me.   
  
"This is your Daddy, Samantha," Maggie had said.  
  
I am a Daddy.  
  
My stuff's in storage; I'm in the middle of moving into a big apartment. There are four agents reporting to   
my section; as I returned to the Bureau I discovered that I did not get a promotion, but I did get a little   
better recognition. A bigger paycheck. In a sense, better respect from my peers. The only thing that was   
different, though, was that they're afraid of me now. I still hear the hallway comments. I see the sideways   
glances when I pick Sammy up from day care.   
  
I've got lots of help learning how to be a parent. Maggie is over all the time; usually telling me how to work   
the oven properly instead of showing me how to take care of Sammy. I catch on quickly; and guess what, I   
didn't need to get rid of my pornos after all; Frohike had claimed them less than five weeks after I   
disappeared.   
  
I'm trying to be a good Daddy. Trying really hard.   
  
Sammy is all I have left. Without her, I would be a shell of a man. She is slowly filling up the void in my   
heart that She once owned. That She still does own, remotely, from wherever it is she is resting.   
  
Scully died in childbirth, did I tell you that?  
  
They said she was so happy, so excited about the baby. She was proud of the name she had given it. She   
was proud of herself, of me, of her mother, of everyone; she was proud of the baby. Everyone was proud of   
*her*. Everyone was excited. Bill Jr. was excited, I have heard, except for the little part about guess-who-  
the-dad-is. He was possibly the most excited. But something went wrong. They told me in medical terms,   
but I didn't really understand. All I understand is that the baby is alive, but she is not. She did not make it.   
  
I try to tell myself that it was a natural death.   
  
But she died because of the baby. Who gave her the baby? I gave her the baby.  
  
But no. That makes it sound like Sammy's fault.   
  
She's going to take Basketball next year, when she turns four. The county program actually has a kind of   
basketball program for kids that age. That's amazing. We can go to the gym together and play. When she's a   
little older, we can do one-on-one. It'll be great.  
  
Heh. Great.   
  
Great.......  
  
No. No, it *will* be great. I will raise her, I will care for her, I will protect her with my life.   
  
It's getting better.   
  
"I have a daughter," I tell people now. She's just turned three. No, I'm single. But we manage. People are   
considerate, smart enough not to ask about the mother.   
  
I realize very well that I am almost forty-four. I know that when she is twelve, I will be fifty-two. That   
when she is sixteen, I will be fifty-six. That when she gets married I will be sixty-five. But none of that   
matters now.   
  
We are a family.  
  
  
~*The End*~  
11/5/00  
  
  



End file.
